


Raspberry Sherbet: a Holt/Kevin collection

by theclaravoyant



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Canon, Ratings Given Per Chapter, Ratings may vary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 00:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14705774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: Named for the colour of the illustrious Gertie, this is a place for all my Holt/Kevin-centric ficlets and drabbles. Mood and Ratings will vary, but will be given at the top of each chapter as will content warnings etc as required.Most recent chapter:Kevin faces the moment of saying goodbye to the love of his life as Holt goes into Witness Protection, and the two of them do not truthfully know when - or if - they will see each other again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my very first B99 fic! I have always had a soft spot for Holt and Kevin and I look forward to writing more about them. Feel free to send me prompts (here or on tumblr @theclaravoyant) but be warned they may take some time to fill. In the meantime, enjoy!
> 
> -
> 
> This chapter; prompt - "I love you" whispered in the ear.  
> A younger Raymond Holt is being promoted to Lieutenant and Kevin won't come to the ceremony. Or will he?

There were very few times in Raymond Jacob Holt’s life in which he had found himself uncontrollably smiling. He had almost expected this to be one of them, but as the Chief called his name and beckoned him across the stage, he couldn’t help but feel that there was something missing. He felt happy, of course, and proud, and more a little vindicated if he was being honest, but he also felt… lonely. 

Holt had achieved many victories in his life alone. His parents, while supportive, had encouraged stalwart independence, and his identities and his career path had put that independence to test after test. Always, he had been victorious, at least enough to endure to the next challenge. He overcame. Always, when he did, he was proud and happy and all of those things. It was just that this time, for the first time in so long he hadn’t even really realised it, he’d been hoping for something more. 

It was not that Kevin didn’t support him, Holt knew. If anything, it was in fact the opposite: Kevin was so loyal that it hurt him to see the ways the other police officers treated him. That was the reason that Kevin had given for his refusal to come tonight, and had Holt been a more emotive person he likely would have railed against the decision. Begged and pleaded that Kevin not let them get to him – that he could handle it – that none of it mattered, or it was all worth it, if he could just be there. 

But Holt was not a particularly emotive person, certainly not one given to begging, pleading and railing. And he knew that Kevin was not prone to knee-jerk reactions either. No doubt he had been weighing up his decision for some time, and he had attended a number of police events at Holt’s request, all of which had gone at best, poorly. Holt could not blame him for wanting to stay away and in fact, found himself even a little endeared by Kevin’s justification, but still. Climbing the steps to the dais and hearing his shoes clack across the wood, he was already thinking about how hollow the award would feel in his hands and how – 

How Kevin’s hair looked like spun straw in this light. 

Smiling crookedly at him, perched at the back of the auditorium. 

Kevin. 

“Congratulations.” 

It was all Holt could do to hold his breath and nod, as the Chief shook his hand. 

“You deserve it, Lieutenant.” 

“Thank you, sir.”

And mercifully, the thanks was genuine. Untainted by loneliness, untainted by the thought of everything he’d had to push and silence to get this far. He was here, and that’s what mattered.

And of course, Kevin. Kevin was also here.

If Holt were being honest, his heart was somehow racing. The milling about, rubbing elbows after the ceremony, was a long and painful grind and he used his words sparingly but even still, every second seemed to last too long until he spied Kevin waiting in the corner. Excused himself and slipped away. 

“You came,” he breathed. Puffed up his chest a little, trying to look more proud than flustered and somehow managing and simultaneously failing at both. Kevin smiled that crooked smile again, but pressed his lips together, and eyed the others – who were keeping, of course, a respectable distance – with skepticism. Possibly even a little disdain. 

“Only for you, Raymond,” he said. “I’m not sure I can handle many more of these.”

“One more,” Holt bargained. “I have to make Captain yet.”

“Of course you do.” 

The disdain softened, Kevin’s eyes drifting back from the crowd to his Raymond. Unbending. Badges gleaming despite all that he had endured – because of it, even. Kevin felt his heart warm, hurt and inspired both at once, and after a cursory glance over his shoulder, slipped his hand into Raymond’s. There was a lot to say. Too much to say in this stolen corner, about how proud he was and how he never meant to offend Raymond with his distrust of the police. About how he was sorry that the world made it harder in his profession than in the more liberal space of arts academia. About how he looked forward to the day he could be as proud of the police as Raymond was. How he believed that only Raymond himself could make that a reality.

“Lieutenant!” called the Chief. “You must come and meet the Mayor. I insist.”

“Yes, sir.”

Holt nodded, ever struck by the call of duty, but he found himself hesitant to move away from Kevin. From the clasp of his hand: as warm and welcoming, comforting and empowering as any embrace. After he’d taken such pains to come here, their precious few seconds didn’t feel like enough.

“It’s okay, go,” Kevin insisted, nodding after the Chief. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Then, for one brief moment, he pulled Holt in closer. So close they could have kissed, but they did not. Kevin simply leaned over their joined arms, like a good sport patting his fellow player on the back. A simple, infallible act of congratulations.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Now go.” 

With a tight smile and a nod, Kevin relinquished Raymond to his colleagues’ impatient control, and jogged out into the cool of the night, pulling a scarf up around his mouth to shield his face from the icy air… and to hide his stolen smile from anyone who might happen to see it. 

Inside, somehow he knew, Raymond was smiling too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for @AchillesMonkey/unlessimwrongwhichyouknowimnot, who prompted: "Somebody mocks one of Holt's autistic traits and Kevin gets protective/defensive." (I based this in parallel (sort of) to when Holt gets defensive of Kevin's PhD.)
> 
> Rated G/G+. CW: It's super fluffy, but there's a tiny bit of ableism, ft the R slur.  
> ft. Autistic Holt

Kevin stuck his hands in his pockets as Raymond counted out the coins for their movie tickets. It had become a ritual of his over the years, and though tickets cost a lot more now than they once did, he’d kept to it: always paying in coin, always counting out perfect change. Unfortunately, that also took a little longer these days than it used to, and while Kevin didn’t mind the wait – it had, after all, become part of his night at the pictures as well – some others certainly did.

There was one such patron behind them now, quietly huffing and shuffling his feet and checking his watch; generally making a fuss. Distracted, Raymond had started over twice, which had only further irritated the gentleman, and this in turn was making Kevin’s temper flare. He could feel the man’s impatience like a cold breeze on the back of his neck. But there were only a few more coins to go; he was certainly not going to escalate the situation for a few seconds, even if a verbal objection would be successful, the prospect of which he frankly, doubted. 

But then, the other fellow had to go and escalate it for him.

“Come on, old man, what are you doing? Paying in pennies?”

Kevin turned. 

“We may pay however we like,” he pointed out. “What’s it to you? The film doesn’t start for another half hour and even then it’s only previews.” 

“I- just- well, you know,” the man huffed. “My idea of a night out just doesn’t include standing in line waiting for your friend there to count his coins.” 

He nodded at Raymond, and Kevin felt his hackles rise. As if this were not enough though, the man went on with a blasé laugh and added: 

“What is he, retarded?”

That set the glowing embers of Kevin’s irritation to flame. With a steely ferocity in his eyes, the powerful anger of a man who knew all too well the pain and exhaustion of letting micro-aggressions slide, he squared up to the stranger. Keeping his hands in his pockets, and speaking in a crisp and firm voice that would have conveyed obvious dripping displeasure even to generations much younger and more liberal in their expression than Kevin, Holt, or the man in line, Kevin spelled out his reply.

“My _husband_ and I have just as much right to enjoy our night out as you do, and I must say, our plans did not involve putting up with a belligerent ass in the process of paying for our tickets. We have conducted ourselves with perfect manners until this moment and you have barely been able to manage five minutes – I’ve counted, and that’s a generous estimate - of waiting in line without harassing your fellow patrons. Frankly, I’m surprised that a man of the vocabulary and character you’ve exhibited thus far this evening would be interested in seeing the same film as us. I’m also given to wonder what you would do were you seeing said film at any other time than the middle of a Monday morning, when you must share your facilities with three, perhaps even four other people! The humanity, sir! –“ 

“Kevin-“

“- _AND_ may I say,” Kevin continued, barely hearing Raymond’s interruption, caught up as he was in a passionate tirade, “I hope you learn something from this film about the way in which people should conduct themselves. My husband is a decorated Police Chief in this fine city, and he can count his damned coins if he wants to.” 

Raymond cleared his throat a little louder this time, and repeated his call with greater emphasis: “ _Kevin.”_

Kevin, who had paused to take a breath, heard this time. Though he was still seeing red, he let a hand on his elbow brush through the rage to remember why he’d been so explosive in the first place. He took a deep breath, nodded apologetically at the bewildered cashier, and walked with Raymond away from the frustrated stranger, and toward their allocated theatre. 

“Well,” he mused as they took their seats, and as he reflected momentarily on the fire that had so rapidly disappeared from his heart, replaced by an almost serene calm. “I apologise, Raymond. Apparently that’s something of a trigger for me.”

If he was not mistaken, Raymond was smiling. 

“I should say so,” he agreed. “But there’s no need to apologise. That man was indeed being a 'belligerent ass', if I do say so myself.” 

At this, Kevin smiled too, comforted by the knowledge that he had not, after all, made their night worse. He may have even improved it. Perhaps, he thought, part of the calm he was now feeling was even due to having stood up to the stranger in the first place. It was a rare moment when a literature professor had an opportunity to protect, as it were, a working Police Chief, and he had to admit he took a great deal of pride in it. 

“Raymond,” he wondered, nudging his husband just as the pre-show reel began. “Did I just _curse?”_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for Anon prompt on tumblr: either Holt or Kevin are trans. Thank you!
> 
> Kevin is flustered by a heated argument with his parents, but Raymond finds particularly amusing, a line about his alleged "magic genitalia".
> 
> trans!holt, hurt/comfort/fluff, Rated T for references to said genitalia  
> also contains some vague references to homophobia, and not so much a warning as a notice, but I’ve used the term ‘transsexual’ as well as transgender which I recognise is usually considered outdated these days, but since they are older and this is in the past it made more sense

Kevin stormed into the house, stomping the snow from his shoes in a practically murderous rage. He unhooked the scarf from around his own neck, and felt an awful lot like throttling someone with it. It was a rare feeling on him, and one he distinctly did not like. For a moment, he entertained the possibility of putting on some music to soothe his last remaining nerve, but decided against it, for fear of snapping the poor record in half.

Fortunately, Raymond followed him from the car and set about doing just that, not a moment after the thought had crossed his mind. Only, as he paced the living room floor with the bitterness of a thousand suns, Kevin couldn’t help thinking that Raymond seemed a little… amused.

“This is not a _joke,”_ he snapped, and Raymond left the gramophone alone to turn and face him. 

“Oh, I know,” Raymond promised, and despite Kevin’s short fuse of a mood, that part did seem sincere. Then a spark of mischief appeared in Raymond’s eyes. He raised an eyebrow, and quoted: “’magic genitalia’?” 

Perhaps it was Raymond’s quizzical expression, or perhaps the cheerful opening bars of Prokofiev’s _Promenade_ beginning to play _._ Perhaps it was even simply the immature ridiculousness of the word – _genitalia –_ in Raymond’s restrained and proper tone, but someway, somehow, Kevin could suddenly see the farcical side of what had happened. Blushing with chagrin, he waved Raymond away. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he pleaded. “It was just a crude paraphrasing.” 

“Intentionally so?” 

“Yes. No.” He cleared his throat and shook his head. “A little of both. I was feeling defensive, thinking on my feet, and… Why are you laughing? 

Kevin frowned. Raymond’s expression was such that he must have thought of the greatest joke of the year. Of the decade. Of the _century._ Somehow, Kevin doubted it. 

“Sit down, dear,” Raymond suggested casually. “Scotch or brandy?”

Kevin sat, still bewildered. 

“It’s… two o’clock in the afternoon,” he stammered.

“So it is,” Raymond agreed. “Brandy?” 

Kevin took the proffered glass from his hand, and as Raymond came to sit beside him, he tapped it as if giving cheers. Then he leaned in and almost-whispered, almost-conspiratorially:

“What if I were to tell you that I do not, in fact, have magic genitalia?” 

“Then I would not understand your point, because of course you don’t, and even if you did, I haven’t seen it yet, so…“

Raymond nodded, thoughtful, and prodded: 

“Or?” 

Kevin looked him up and down but, still shaken from the argument with his parents, he was not catching on as fast as he usually might have. Raymond continued to lead him down the path: word by word, piece by piece, filling in the gaps. 

“Your parents assume that we have been fornicating like rabbits since the moment we met,” Raymond explained, “but even if we had, which we have not, I assure you my ‘magic genitalia’, as you so loquaciously called it, would have raised more questions than answers for them.” 

Raymond gave him a sly look, sure that by now, he must be getting it. Kevin only sighed. 

“Raymond, I love you,” he groaned, “but I’m not in the mood for a riddle. Or for defending my parents. Please, can you just come out with it?” 

Raymond nodded, but his tone changed. He became a little less jovial, more solemn and thoughtful. A tension appeared in his shoulders, and he dropped his eyes from Kevin’s face. He fiddled with the empty brandy glass in his hand, as if suddenly uncomfortable. Kevin turned over his own choice of words. This suddenly felt a lot like coming out. 

“Your parents assume I made you gay. Because of the sex. With my magical penis,” Raymond spelled out. 

“Yes.” 

“But they’re wrong.” 

“Yes.” 

“Because I don’t actually have a penis at all.” 

Kevin blinked, his weary irritation knocked askew. “I’m sorry?” 

“I’m transsexual. Or transgender, whichever you’d prefer. I’ve had most of my breast tissue removed, and have been taking testosterone injections for a number of years now, but I don’t have a penis. I may not ever get one.” 

“… I see.” 

Kevin took a deep breath, letting it all settle over him. So this was what Raymond had been laughing about since they’d walked through the door – maybe the whole way home – and indeed, it was quite amusing, or at least it would have been to a less frazzled mind. He’d had a long day, full of anxiety, rejection, pain, anger, and surprises of a much more upsetting nature; it had effected him even more than he’d thought, Kevin realised, or else what Raymond had been hinting at should have occurred to him earlier. Such were the foibles of getting caught up in one’s own struggle and drama; if he had not, perhaps he would have been able to see the humour in it earlier. He snorted to himself, and found that – two in the afternoon be damned - he was all of a sudden very, very glad for the brandy in his hand. What a rollercoaster of a day this was turning out to be. He downed the whole glass in one mouthful, closed his eyes, and savoured its sweetness burning down his throat. A simple pleasure in a chaotic world. 

Then Raymond asked, a little more hesitantly: 

“Is that… a problem?”  
  
Kevin’s eyes bolted open, and for a moment he worried that he might have sloshed brandy everywhere in his haste, before reassuring himself that his glass was empty. He re-focused his attention on Raymond, and realised he probably shouldn’t have taken that particular moment to think about himself. Apologetic, he nudged one of Raymond’s knees with one of his own, and Raymond looked up, revealing an expression quite a lot more scared and vulnerable than he usually let on. That, Kevin quickly decided, was his new least favourite thing about today, but he hoped that, this time, he was in a position to do something about it.

“Of course it’s not a problem,” he promised, as he put his brandy glass, and Raymond’s as well, on the coffee table before them. “Not a problem at all.” 

Though he had spoken as sincerely as he could, Raymond didn’t look entirely convinced. Kevin thought it over for a long moment, not wanting his next words to be blundered, however well-meaning. Raymond waited as patiently as he could in this unusually panicked state, until Kevin took his hands and looked steadily into his eyes. 

“Raymond,” he said at last. “I didn’t mean to be short with you, and for that I apologise. I’m glad you found some humour in today, and one day I might laugh about it too. It is rather a good joke, and I want to thank you for… explaining it to me, with all that doing so entailed. Even if it did happen earlier than you might have liked.” 

“On the contrary, Kevin,” Raymond objected, shaking his head. “I’m only sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.” 

“No matter,” Kevin assured him. “You’ve told me now, and so it’s now that I shall respond, and that is to say… You have enough worries in this world, without worrying about where you stand with me. Who you are to me. I want to promise you, you never need worry about that. I knew you as a man when I fell in love with you, Raymond. I know you as a man, sitting here right now with me. And I hope you won’t think me too forward for saying so, but I’m sure that as things progress with us in the department of physical intimacy, I’ll know you as a man then as well. We’ll figure it out. And if you ever wish to tell me more of your story or your life before all this, that’s fine and dandy, but either way, I love you, Raymond Jacob Holt. Any questions?”


	4. Hurt/Comfort/Fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kevin is feeling nervous and judged at his first police social function with Raymond. Raymond inspires him not to be so scared. a little hurt-comfort/mild angst quickly soothed by fluff <3 Rated T just in case, & for mild non specific references to homophobia
> 
> the song is [Nothing's Gonna Change My Love for You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MLxTEV5vpyg) by Glen Mederios and if Holt ever saw the video of this he would probably spit-roast me for making him like it XD oh 1987 you are so good to us. the lyrics are legit super sweet though I love cheesy songs sue me

Kevin’s fingers were tensely wrapped around a bottle of beer he had opened, but not touched. He didn’t care for the stuff, to be honest, but he was doing his best to try and fit in - for Raymond, if nothing else. Try though he might, he just couldn’t feel welcome in this place, with these people’s eyes on him, and on Raymond every time they stood too close, or shared a look, or a whisper. Perhaps he was exaggerating, he told himself; after all, most workplaces had some nosy people that would have been intrigued by any new spot of romance on the scene.

But as he watched a semi-choreographed swing number taking place on the floor - a flurry of colour and joy in the dance that he usually might have taken pleasure in observing - and as Raymond stood beside him looking just as out of place with the people he’d worked beside for years as Kevin himself did, being a total stranger… Perhaps he was not exaggerating so much after all.

He swallowed a mouthful of beer. It wasn’t the worst he’d ever had, but he didn’t dare crack a joke about straight men and their fear of a little elegance. Not here.

“Raymond,” he said instead. “I think we should go.”

“Nonsense,” Raymond said. “We have as much right to be here as anyone else. Don’t let them scare you off.”

“I’m not-“ Kevin glanced around, and lowered his voice to little more than a hiss. “I’m not _scared._ I’m bored. Nobody is talking to us, it’s uncomfortable. The drinks are terrible…”

“Then order something else.” Raymond raised his own glass in demonstration, a deep burgundy-red wine, and repeated with more emphatic enunciation: “Don’t let them scare you off.”

As Kevin watched Raymond take a drink, in open defiance of the tense atmosphere and all the prying eyes, he couldn’t help but admit to a little fear after all. His heart leapt into his throat and he was almost tempted to reach forward and snatch the glass from Raymond’s hand. In reality, he barely moved, but Raymond saw the flash of terror in his eyes, and his air of defiance softened. He smiled - just a little, private smile; just for them - and Kevin felt the terror quell.

“I apologise,” Kevin stammered. “I suppose I am being a little dramatic.”

Raymond shook his head. “It’s one of the things I love about you. But I’m sure you’ll become accustomed in time. My colleagues… tend to have more bark than bite.”

“Indeed.”

Raymond nodded, and as he turned to engage in conversation with someone else, Kevin took a moment to absorb his advice. He took a deep breath, and let it out as subtly as he could as he stared at the bottle of beer and took stock of his situation. Raymond clearly wanted him to be here, and wanted to be _here_ for some reason. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad after all once the initial shock and awe wore off. Either way, he’d do anything for Raymond at this point, and if that included spending the rest of the evening with every socially attuned, most definitely paranoid nerve in his body on end then so be it.

Decision made, Kevin took a deep breath and strode back to the bar.

“A cabernet sauvignon, please,” he ordered, as boldly as he could muster. “From Bordeaux, if you have it.”

“Coming right up.”

As he returned to his and Raymond’s standing table, drink in hand, Raymond beamed for all intents and purposes.

“There you go!” he cheered.

Kevin nodded, already enthusiastically downing the wine considerably faster than one might deem socially acceptable. He still had a lot of nerves to quell, after all. But he smiled at Raymond who clearly appreciated his effort - and Raymond reciprocated, by offering his hand.

“What do you say, dear?” he proposed. “May I have this dance?”

Kevin tilted his head. The music was changing to a slower number with a crooning trumpet and some kind of… synthesiser? It was not his sort of music, nor Raymond’s - in fact, if he was not mistaken, it was some top of the charts pop song - but all of a sudden he was feeling brave. At least, as far as anyone with their heart beating this loudly in their ears could be considered brave. But, he figured, if they were going to be stared at standing silently in the corner, why not make a night of it?

_Don’t let them scare you off,_ Raymond’s advice rang in his ears, even as Raymond himself in this moment was waiting for Kevin’s decision. Much to Raymond’s relief, he was sure, Kevin finished his glass of wine, straightened his tie, and agreed with a smile on his face. Even with his heart still in is throat, nothing pleased him more in that moment than to join the gently snowballing couples on the floor and remind himself, again, of what Raymond had said. They had every right to be here, to be together, to be in love. More and more Kevin felt the hair on the back of his neck and his twisting gut begin to calm, replaced by sensations such as the strength of Raymond’s hands, the steadiness of his movement, the joy on his face to see Kevin’s struggle begin to fade. Soon enough he even felt himself smiling, as the simple steps soothed him enough to actually pay attention to the lyrics of the song as they danced.

… _Nothing’s gonna change my love for you_  
You ought to know by now how much I love you  
One thing you can be sure of -  
_I’ll never ask for more than your love…_

“What are you smiling at?” Raymond wondered, though he was enamoured enough with the expression alone. Kevin blushed a little, as though caught in an embarrassing secret, and nodded toward the speakers.

“I think I like this song,” he confessed.

“You know,” Raymond mused, in an equally hushed tone. “I think I do too.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:  
> Kevin is always taking care of Holt, but this time Holt takes care of Kevin.
> 
> I am working on an angstier take on a similar concept but it's currently stalled. Have the fluffier one instead!  
> Rated G+. Minor references to a non-serious car accident.

“Raymond.”

“Kevin.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I disagree.”

Kevin snorted, and winced when pain seized his shoulder at the movement. Without lifting his eyes from the pages of his book, he grimaced and stretched it out a little. Immediately, Raymond’s watchful eyes locked on.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

_“Yes,”_ Kevin insisted. “It’s just a little hyperextension-hyperflexion strain. It’s very common in right angle collisions, as I am sure you know, and it will pass in no time at all - dare I say, in less time than it will take the insurance check to arrive. Go back to work, dear. I fear you’ll go stark raving stuck here at home.”

“But what if you need something?”

“I assure you I shall manage.”

Raymond was not convinced - or rather, he was choosing not to be convinced. Looking for an excuse, one might say, to stay.

“Your paper,” he suggested, spying Kevin’s laptop which he had left on the coffee table. Kevin waved him off, but he drew it close and opened it, determined not to relent.

“I’ll make my deadlines in plenty of time, Raymond,” Kevin promised. “You needn’t fuss.”

He wasn’t worried anymore, though, that was just it. The relief was near immeasurable. It was still sinking in, ever since he’d got the call this morning and rushed to Kevin’s side expiring the worse. All he had found was a few bumps ad bruises and a dented panel. And the love of his life, his heart, very much alive and nigh unscathed; apparently finding his own melodramatic antics the most difficult part of the whole ordeal. _Worried. Pah._

Then again, Raymond thought,he hadn’t moved more than three feet from Kevin since they had left the hospital, and he had insisted upon the full day off work even though by all accounts it was not necessary that he stay home. Perhaps he could see, he admitted to himself, how one might construe such behaviour as worry - but no, not anymore. He was simply making the best use of his time.

“Your novel, then,” Raymond suggested. “It has been so long since I read a chapter. Surely you have something new for me?”

Irritable as he was, Kevin cracked a smile at that. His Raymond was very good at believing he was covering up his feelings - and most people around him, apparently, felt the same - but Kevin had always seen through this things. He had been looking forward to Raymond’s dramatic nature bringing out the comedian in him - perhaps pointing out the irony that it was Kevin who had been hurt and not Raymond himself, the one who spent every day tackling unpredictable and often dangerous situations. He hadn’t expend Raymond to become stuck to his die as though counting his every breath. Fortunately though, judging by the scowl on Raymonds’s face, he’d found just the thing to shake himself out of it.

“What kind of rigging is this?” Raymond scoffed, jabbing an accusing finger at the screen and glaring at the offending words. “ _What_ kind of ship?! Kevin. This is appalling detail. Creative license is one thing but this is just… _madness.”_

Kevin rolled his eyes. It was hard to think about anything but the ache in his shoulder which seemed to intensify the more he wanted to take his computer back. When he lifted his neck and very nearly yelped aloud at the sudden pain, he realised he had to surrender and face the reality that it was in fact quite difficult to move in his current state. Perhaps his dear, dramatic Raymond had a point after all. Plus, it would have been terribly boring stuck here all alone, especially with his shoulder too sore to type…

“- Stay here,” Raymond said, interrupting his own critique to set the laptop aside for a moment and disappear upstairs. It was not as if Kevin had anywhere else to go, so wait he did, and listened for the sounds of Raymond rifling around the study for the best of his nautical books. He brought down a stack after a short while, and lumped them onto the coffee table.

“I am, of course, happy to talk you through it,” he offered, “but references never go amiss. I have a few more in mind I can bring home from the library tomorrow. Or. Well… I suppose I could go now, if you like.”

Raymond’s superb focus faltered a little as he realised he might be coming on a little strong, and Kevin saw it in his eyes he really didn’t want to leave. _Of course not._ Kevin had to take pity - not just for Raymond, but for himself. His neck was starting to hurt again, with the slight subconscious urge to reach for something. For Raymond?

“I think these will make a perfect start,” he promised earnestly. “And I’d love nothing more than for you to talk me through them. Besides, I’m not sure my arms are up to holding such volumes for the moment."

“Naturally.”

Raymond nodded, and Kevin felt the ache in his shoulder subside a little. Raymond seemed to notice this relief, as surely as he’d noticed his pain, and seemed to grow some comfort from it too.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” he offered, “a pillow, perhaps?”

“No, thank you.”

“Another aspirin?”

“No-“

“A glass of brandy?”

“Raymond!”

“Kevin.”

Unwavering, as ever, Raymond watched for a more constructive answer. Kevin sighed. He was hardly done for admitting to weakness or want, but he felt so damnably lucky to have such a loyal guardian. In the end it was a moment’s silence that drew the confession out of him.

“I suppose a pot of tea wouldn’t go amiss,” he said. “And for goodness sake, let the poor dog back inside, would you?”

“Of course, dear.”

Raymond smiled, as gentle and reassuring as anyone else’s loving caress, and finally let loose the invisible chain of worry that had been binding them and disappeared into the other room to make the tea.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for this week's 15 Minute Fic prompt on Pillowfort... I decided to capture the moment as Kevin faces the dark possibility that when Holt leaves for witness protection in Florida, the two of them might not ever meet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holt/Kevin, missing moment, S4. Angst. Rated G.

“Raymond…”

He’s not really sure what he’s intending to say. It is just that, just a name, the only name that matters in these precious final seconds as their time slips through the hourglass. The name that is the closest he can get to putting so many feelings into words. There are no other words that could have done any good. Not ‘please,’ not ‘no,’ not any phrase in any language he knows. This is the way things are going to be now, and it wouldn’t be happening if it didn’t have to be happening, and Kevin has learnt long ago not to rage against things beyond his control. All the same, he feels bitterly helpless. Only a few feet of asphalt and the metal steps of an interstate bus separate them and yet, he is stranded. From the look on Raymond’s face, Kevin can only surmise he feels the same.

The miserable moment between them is pushed on into the barreling waves of time when Jake - ducking his shoulders, making himself as small as he can - slips past Kevin and forces their eye contact to break. The bus is leaving. The time is approaching when he will have to really, truly say goodbye. The federal marshals have told them it will be a matter of months, but something about the way Raymond sat with it told Kevin otherwise, and Raymond never repeated what the marshals had said. He hates to lie, and the open-endedness of it all stretches out before Kevin like the merciless expanse of the ocean. Behind him, he can hear Amy sniffling and gasping and trying not to cry, but Kevin only feels a daunting self-awareness of the numbness that has overcome him at the prospect of being… alone.

_Alone._

The driver issues final calls, and Kevin wades through the numbness to find something to say. He’d never imagined his last moments with Raymond to be standing in an empty lot in front of greyhound bus in the middle of a rather mediocre night. He’d been forced to imagine their last moments more times than he cared to admit, but they weren’t like this. Never like this.

Maybe he should just run up those stairs, run away with his Raymond. Could he do that? Who could stop him if he tried?

It doesn’t matter, because his legs refuse to move and his heart ticks by the seconds and the driver puts his hand on the lever to close the door and at the very, very last second the words burst from Raymond’s lips as if he simply cannot bear to keep them in any longer.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

The words are a reflex, like a muscle of his heart that is aching, because they don’t say _I love you_ as much as they should. But Kevin catches the slightest smile on Raymond’s face as the doors slide closed between them, and that is enough to dislodge the weight in his chest, if only a little. Finally, he retreats to where Amy is waiting. She is still snuffling and full of tears, of raw pain. He almost can’t bear to look at her, but he wraps his arms across his chest against his own pain, and tries to reach out.

“I’m… sorry,” he manages, and even that is almost too much. The numbness, the shock on which he has been thus far carried on this horrific journey is beginning to slip away and he knows it will not be long until he is looking his worst fears right in the face. He can’t imagine what it must be like to be Amy, to be young and in love and ready to commit to something so deep and abidingly beautiful, only to have it ripped away. He feels sorry for her. But if he has to admit, he is not as sorry for her as he is for himself. Six months away from Raymond is hard enough when they can write and call and talk to and about each other freely; when he knows he could go home if he really wants to; when he knows Raymond will be here waiting at the end of it all. Six months with no end, and no contact, and no safety - No guarantee that they will ever see each other again? It is almost impossible to comprehend. Hence the shock. How can any organism adjust when its lifeblood of thirty years is cut off and not even the changing seasons could promise its return?

“I’m sorry too,” Amy says, and looks Kevin up and down. She’s surprised he’s not as much of a wreck as she is, Kevin thinks. Or maybe, she knows that he is, because she gives him a sad smile, and asks, “Is there anything I can do?”

Kevin shakes his head.

“If you don’t mind,” he says, “I need a moment alone.”

Tears claw at his eyes, at his voice. He shoves shaking hands into the pockets of his coat, and before Amy or the marshals can object, he strides away from them as fast as his legs will go. All around him, the clamour of the city closes in. It is the city Raymond loves, and he almost wants to _scream_ as he is buffeted by noise and uneven sidewalks and busy people bustling by even at this ungodly hour but instead he puts his head down and walks faster. He walks until he is blind, until he finds people who will not know him and will not care that sits at the bar of a diner and orders a single black coffee and leaves it untouched and stares at his wedding ring until morning, because it’s starting to feel like the world might just be falling in around him.


End file.
